Glory
by Nicholas Lucien
Summary: An encounter one night will set into motion Nick's future in Toronto. This story was inspired by the song 'Glory' by Jamie N Commons. Since lyrics cannot be posted here, you can do a search for the lyrics to find them. The title of this story comes from the song title. I do not own these characters and is not intended to infringe upon any copyright owners. No profit is being made


_December 1989, Toronto, ON, CAN _

The night was cold, freezing actually, though Nick didn't let that stop him. He was tired of being in the loft, tired of being bricked in with only his guilts and regrets. If he had been on speaking terms with his maker, he would have gone to him. LaCroix had long been able to help him forget, or at least ignore, the troubling thoughts when they surfaced. But, Nick reminded himself, he had turned away from that life and from LaCroix - separated himself from that.

Nick slipped his hands into the pockets of the jacket as he walked down the sidewalk. When LaCroix had not been available to him, he would then seek out Janette for comfort, but he dared not do that now. He cocked his head to one side, feeling the slight tug of his connection to her. Nick wanted to be away from LaCroix, and that meant also avoiding Janette. At the corner, he turned and headed in a direction opposite of her. He felt the familiar ache he often did when making the choice to stay away from her. Nick dropped his head down and continued to walk. There wasn't really any other choice he could make, and this isolation combined with the other hurts he was feeling that night. Separated from mortals and vampires, where could he go? Nick halted and clenched his eyes shut. Separated from mortals and vampires, who would want him and welcome him? He let out a ragged breath, opened his eyes, and continued on. He just had to continue on.

Nick walked aimlessly, eventually crossing under the Don Valley Parkway and going over the Don River. Along the way, he noticed the many holiday decorations that were hanging up, but ignored them – it wasn't something he could participate in anyway. But the religious meaning behind the holiday stirred something in him from long ago, and without questioning, Nick headed up Queen Street. Coming to the intersection with Power Street, Nick found what he had sought – an old Catholic Church. St Paul's Church was an impressive stone structure in the Italian Renaissance style, Nick appraised as he leaned up against the corner lamp post and took in the bell tower on the left and the front of the Church on his right. A short flight of steps led to a stout, dark wooden door flanked by large windows and more wooden doors. He could tell this would be an inviting vision for a mortal, a powerful haven that would protect them, but the cross placed at the apex of the roof reminded Nick this was not a place for him. Nick scowled deeply; there was a time, so very long ago, when he would have been welcomed. But because of a mistake, he no longer was. His feelings of guilt bubbled up, and he felt consumed again by them. Nick closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the lamp post, waiting for the sensation of drowning to leave him.

"Too cold a night to be standing outside alone. Why not come in and be warm?"

Nick snapped his eyes open while forcing himself to be still and ignore the instinctual drive to attack the person that startled him. He let out a measured breath while looking at the man. The man was protected from the cold by a dark enveloping jacket, though Nick couldn't seem to judge the style or the exact color. He dismissed his lack of focus as fatigue, and in any event, he saw the identifying white collar, wrapped around and protecting the man's neck. "Good evening, Father."

The priest smiled while nodding his head slightly in acknowledgment. "And to you, my son," he said while using his right hand to make the sign of the cross in blessing. He did not fail to notice when the visitor flinched and turned away.

"I don't deserve that," Nick rumbled.

"Those that think that are usually the ones most in need of it." He waited a few moments, but the other man said nothing. Nor did the other man leave. He decided to try again. "My name is Waite, and you are?"

Nick turned back to face the priest. "Nicholas," he finally answered.

"Nicholas." Waite indicated the front of St Paul's Church. "It is warmer inside."

"I'm fine out here." Nick hesitantly glanced at the church then back at the priest.

"Well, then I will stay out here with you. You don't seem like you really want to be alone right now."

Nick watched as Waite shrugged, shifting the indistinct coat. The dark material looked like it got bigger before shrinking down to cling closer to the priest. Nick again dismissed not seeing the coat clearly as merely being too weary.

"And perhaps," Waite ventured, "you might even want to talk to someone."

"What makes you think that?" Nick knew he should have just stayed at the loft and not gone out. There, he could have stayed cocooned in his misery instead of feeling like someone might care, only to be hurt when abandoned. Or hunted.

"You are still here." The pause of silence between them grew longer. Waite tilted his head. "Tell me, Nicholas, the real reason you don't want to go in?"

Nick thought back to how much he had changed once he turned away from his mortality and became a vampire. He thought of the activities he could no longer do and the places he could no longer go. "Truth be told, Father, I'm not the man I once was. I can't go in."

"Yes, people do change throughout their life. I don't imagine anyone is stagnant or would want to be. As we change, it sometimes seems like we are a completely different individual, but the change continues. I think, even the man you changed into, must be changing again."

Nick thought about that. He had changed dramatically after LaCroix had brought him across. He struggled, but he knew he was no longer that vampire, no longer quite what he once was.

"So many people search for something. What do you search for, Nicholas?"

"I search for signs to …"

"Help figure out the right from the wrong?"

Nick stiffened. "How did you know that?"

Waite smiled. "It is the line all people walk." He nodded towards the church building. "And that walk takes us eventually into there."

"Not me."

"Tell me, Nicholas, do you pray? Do you ask for help in your walk? Do you," Waite gently questioned, "ask for help from your guardian angel?"

Nick scowled at the building. "Angels are too busy to worry about me."

"Too busy?"

Nick looked back at Waite. "Singing."

"Ah yes," Waite replied, rumbling with a small laugh. "Busy singing 'Glory, Hallelujah' constantly." He stared seriously at Nicholas. "They don't do that all the time. They can be with you when you need that help, so you are not alone as you walk. They can listen to you."

"What's the point in that?"

Waite shrugged. "You look like you want someone to listen. Perhaps I'm not what you were searching for, but I know how to listen."

Nick shook his head. "This is nothing you want to hear."

"Nicholas. You left so long ago, and now you have found your way back. Let me help you."

Nick clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. He wanted to talk, to let some of what was contained within him out. He couldn't talk to Janette. He wouldn't talk to LaCroix. There wasn't anyone else, but Waite was offering, like the priests of his mortal youth, and that compassion cracked his resolve. "I feel broken. Inside. I know I am, and I don't know how to fix it. I want to be like the man I was long ago, but I don't know how to do that."

Waite stepped closer.

"There are just too many years of pain and hatred. And now I hate what I had done, and I've tried to fix it, and there is nothing to show for it." Nick considered everything he had done, and how far away he still was to being mortal again. "Nothing really changed," he defeatedly admitted.

Waite reached out and wrapped his arms around Nicholas. At first, the man felt like he would pull away, but then relented and leaned in. "You have changed; it might not seem like much, but you have. You aren't that man anymore, the one that caused you so much pain, but you have not completely changed into the next man you will become." He patted Nicholas' back before breaking their contact. "You want to leave your sorrows behind, go someplace where you can't see them or feel them again. I can understand that. You will get there, just have a little more patience." Waite smiled. "I would offer entry into the church again, but you will probably still not take it. But if it means anything, I don't think the angels were singing just now - I think they were silent and listening."

"Well," Nick replied with a small smile, "at least you were." He had to admit, he did feel slightly better. But he knew he could not stay much longer; there was always the risk of being discovered for what he was. Nick turned to leave. "And when you go back in, sing Hallelujah for me."

Waite nodded. "I will. Until the next time we meet." He watched as Nicholas walked down the street and rounded the corner. He then saw Nicholas in the air, flying away.

"You always had an unusual interest in that one."

Waite shook his shoulders, his dark enveloping wings unfolded from being wrapped around his body like a cloak. "I do not know what you mean, Tedric," he innocently answered to the voice behind him.

"Oh, yes, you do," Tedric replied. "You've been interested in that one for a long while. The one you were supposed to watch over and guard." He leaned in closer to Waite. "The one that slipped away," he whispered.

Waite took a step forward and turned around to face Tedric, his brother's wings already outstretched, the pale cream-colored feathers catching the light from the streetlamp. "I cannot counteract free will, any more than you can. His choice had led him away, and his recent choices are bringing him back."

Tedric sighed. "Nicholas is not ready yet."

"I believe he is," Waite confidently assured his brother.

"Perhaps," Tedric dubiously responded.

Waite gently shook his wings, then reached over to smooth out a dark iridescent feather that was misaligned. "I have been thinking, Tedric, that it is time for your charge to meet mine."

"Whom? I do have more than a single soul I guard."

Waite let his wing drop back. "You know the one I speak of."

"The one you often ask me about? The woman that works with the dead?"

"Who better for him? She cares for the ones that are gone, wants to help them. Nicholas needs that help right now."

Tedric though it over. "Not sure how well that would work. She is currently on the day shift and is asleep at night. If Nicholas needs a trustworthy friend, Alvaro guards over that police captain already on the night shift. I could ask-"

"No, the woman is better. Inspire someone to get her reassigned to the night shift," Waite reasonably responded. "When the opportunity presents itself, they both will be ready to meet."

"And how will that happen? I must watch over my charge and protect her as best I am able to. My actions cannot knowingly place her in harm's way where she could die."

Waite put his arm around his brother. "Do not worry about that. I will make all the arrangements, and she will remain completely safe."

"After so many centuries with you, I am familiar with how you think. Try not to make it too big an explosion; others may be caught within it."

"Of course not, just big enough to handle a vampire, and I will make sure no one but myself is in the area. Don't worry; Nicholas is ready this time to complete his change, and she will help with that."

Tedric nodded in approval. "Then let us go inside and sing glory and hallelujah for such an outcome."


End file.
